A Christmas Drarry
by LynstHolin
Summary: Christmas fluff! Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter


[I fudged the CoS timeline just a teeny tiny bit. Artistic license]

...

The drawing room was lovely. The illusion of falling snow was so realistic that the candlelight made the snowflakes sparkle. Unmelting icicles hung from the mantle of the fireplace. The Christmas tree was eighteen feet high, and fairies sat in its boughs, twinkling and preening whenever a human looked their way. The figures in the nativity scene that was displayed on a sidetable actually moved; Mary took her baby from the manger and showed him to the three Magi, who knelt down in homage.

The long table was covered by a white linen cloth embroidered in gold. Fat red candles had holly wound about their bases. Three people sat at one end of the table, silently eating their Christmas feast of roast goose with chestnut stuffing, Brussels sprouts, and roast potatoes. The sound of silver clinking against fine china was far too loud. A house elf brought a flaming pudding to the table. It seemed ludicrous, with no guests there to admire it.

It was Christmas at Malfoy Manor. The entire mansion was decorated festively, but it did nothing the relieve the deadness of the place. Draco felt like he was living in a mausoleum, and the holiday just made it worse. Though he supposed it was better than the year when the Dark Lord had been in attendance during Yule time.

"Shall we open our presents?" his mother asked with forced cheerfulness after they'd finished their pudding. Ah, yes, a great pile of _things_ under the tree again. Draco dutifully opened every gift, feigning delight at silk socks, a diamond tie-tack, a chess set with pieces carved from jade, a rare tome on potions, and the plushest bathrobe imaginable. His parents only bought him the best. It was a pity _things _no longer made Draco happy.

"I think I'll go to bed now," he told his parents, "I was up early." A lie. He'd laid in bed until nearly noon, unable to come up with a reason to not to. Things didn't make him happy. _Nothing_ made him happy. Draco wasn't sure what the point of his existence was.

Sleep was his only escape from the grayness that engulfed him. Sleep and dreams. He crawled into bed with a sense of relief, nestling into his pillow and closing his eyes.

Draco found himself in the Hogwarts dungeons, near the potions classroom. "I am the Ghost of Christmas Past," announced a spectral figure.

"No, you're actually Nearly Headless Nick."

"Humor me. I'm here to help you, even though you're not a Gryffindor. Come along." The ghost floated toward the Slytherin common room. Draco found he was able to go through walls just like Nick. He saw his twelve-year-old self sitting on a leather couch, scowling. Nick gave him a shove, and, with a vertiginous lurch, he was _inside_ his past self.

Why did things have to change? Christmas had always been a time when the Manor had been full of people, including at least a dozen playmates for Draco. There were sleigh rides, singalongs, chestnut roastings, sledding, the most extravagant delicacies to eat, a midnight masquerade ball that he spied on from a hiding place at the top of the stairs, snowball fights, presents stacked up to the ceiling... It was what Draco imagined heaven to be.

But this Christmas Day, he was stuck at Hogwarts. His parents had something more important to do. They wouldn't say what it was, but it involved Crabbe and Goyle's parents, too. At least Draco wasn't alone.

His stomach rumbled, reminding him to go to the Great Hall for the Christmas feast. As he morosely picked at his roast turkey, Draco watched Potter and Weasley. Hermione was in hospital, turned into a cat, apparently. It served her right, trying to be sneaky. Draco's tummy made a funny little flip as he remembered how he'd unwittingly told the two boys about his parents' hiding place. Potter and Weasley should have been punished for what they'd done, but Draco had no proof. Everyone knew Dumbledore favored Potter, anyway.

The two boys were wearing the ugliest sweaters Draco had ever seen. Lucius frequently joked about Mrs. Weasley's atrocious knitting, and these were obviously her handiwork. "Nice jumpers," he sneered. "Hey, Weasley, is your family so poor that your mother has to dig through garbage for little leftover bits of yarn? That's the only possible explanation." Crabbe and Goyle chortled.

Ron rocketed from his seat, but Harry grabbed him by the arm. "It's not worth it, Ron! His trained apes will stomp you flat."

Draco, of course, could never admit that he wished he had a sweater that his mother had knitted just for him instead of the store-bought socks and fur hat that she'd sent. At least he'd know that she was thinking of him.

The Great Hall was much emptier than usual, and much more quiet. Draco could hear Potter and Weasley talking about how concerned they were for poor Hermione, being stuck all alone in the infirmary on Christmas. Ron was excited when a big, round, brown pudding appeared on the table. "We'll bring it to her! We can set it on fire!"

"We'll need Seamus for that," Potter said, and both boys laughed uproariously. When he laughed deeply, Harry threw his head back, and his mop of hair shook. It was a laugh that came from the belly, not at all like the shallow chuckles that Crabbe and Goyle gave whenever Draco made a witticism. _I wish I could make Potter laugh like that_. Draco's eyes widened. Where on earth did that come from?

Draco watched the two boys attempt to wrap the enormous pudding in a napkin. They were so happy about bringing a treat to their friend. Would Crabbe and Goyle do the same for him out of sheer affection? Draco suspected not. He was starting to learn that there were things, very good things, that money couldn't buy.

Draco suddenly found himself standing outside in the snow in front of a crooked little house. He was wearing only his pajama bottoms, but he wasn't cold, and his bare feet didn't leave tracks in the snow. "I'm still dreaming," he said.

"Of course you are. You haven't forgotten about me, have you, Draco?" It was Moaning Myrtle. Wonderful. She was cuddling up against him with her head on his shoulder, making eyes at him.

"Who could forget you, Myrtle?" She tittered, and the hand she had on his back started to move lower. "Er, I suppose you're the Ghost of Christmas Present."

Myrtle pouted. "Why so impatient?"

"I can take it from here." Draco walked toward the crooked house, ignoring the tantrum that Myrtle was throwing behind him. He could hear laughing and singing from twenty feet away. He walked through a wall and into a cramped kitchen full of gingers. Potter was there, too, holding a small blue-haired boy in his lap.

Draco hadn't seen Potter in two years, not since the Death Eater trials ended. Potter had spent a lot of time with the Malfoys during then, when he'd worked to keep them out of Azkaban. Draco had learned a lot about the Chosen One. Potter was rash, impatient, stubborn, quick to jump to conclusions and go on the defensive, hot-headed, prone to speak and act without thinking, and snarky, but he had a core of kindness. It had been more than Draco could bear at times. "Why are you being nice to _me_?" he'd demanded once, near tears.

Potter had given him a surprised look. "I've always had a tendency to think in black and white. To think that people are all good, or all evil. I used to think you were the devil himself, actually." He'd grinned at Draco then, his bright green eyes crinkling at the corners. Draco had laughed weakly. "But that's a childish way of thinking. Everyone has good and bad in them. And I know you're not evil, Draco."

When the trials were over, there'd been no reason for Draco to see Potter any more, and he'd doubted that an Auror wanted to be friends with a former Death Eater. Not seeing the other boy left a space inside Draco, a void from which the grayness leaked. Seeing Potter-_Harry_-again hit him like a physical blow.

Harry was singing directly to the little boy on his lap. "_Simply having a wonderful Christmas time_." His singing voice was atrocious, and the tot squealed and put his hands over his ears.

"Teddy is an excellent music critic," said Ginny. She was perched on the lap of Dean Thomas, which surprised Draco. He'd thought that she and Harry were destined for each other or something.

Ron came into the kitchen with a broomstick in each hand, nearly braining his mother with one of them. "Who's up for a midnight flight?"

"Me, me!" Ginny hopped off Dean's lap and bounced happily on her feet.

"Let me put this little monkey to bed, first," Harry said. Draco followed Harry as he carried a squirming Teddy upstairs. The boy struggled as Harry undressed him, and he kicked his podgy little legs when Harry tried to get a set of footie PJs on him. Harry heaved an exasperated sigh, but he gently persisted until he was finally able to zip the PJs up the front. Teddy wiggled like a fish on a line, but, in the end, Harry got him under the covers. "You try my patience sometimes, monkey boy." He picked a brightly colored book up off a side-table. "More Dr. Seuss?" Teddy crowed happily. Harry sat on the side of the bed and opened the book. " 'I am Sam. Sam I am. Do you like green eggs and ham?' "

Teddy was asleep half-way through the book. Harry leaned over and kissed him on the forehead before he got up and went down the stairs and out the kitchen door. Every adult but Molly had grabbed a broom. "You're it," Ginny told Harry, and a crazed game of tag began.

Draco was wondering if he could fly along with them when there was another change of scene. He was back home, just outside the drawing room. The Bloody Baron was at his side, looking as ghastly as usual. "I suppose you're the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come, hmm?" The Baron didn't speak. He just pulled Draco into the drawing room, where he and his parents sat at one end of the long table dining on roast goose. His father's hairline had receded, and his mother had more lines in her face. A woman Draco recognized as Astoria Greengrass sat next to future-Draco. The room was beautifully decorated, but it was far too silent. Silver clinked loudly on fine china. The Bloody Baron gave Draco a push, and he fell into his future self.

"Just think how much fun Christmas will be when you two have a baby," Narcissa said with forced cheerfulness.

Astoria sneered. "For us to have a baby, Draco first needs to begin fulfilling his husbandly duties, if you know what I mean."

"Have another glass of wine, Tori," Draco snapped.

"What have I got to stay sober for?"

"Enough," Lucius said tiredly.

"Let's open our gifts," Narcissa chirped, a fake smile pasted on her face.

Draco suddenly felt utterly exhausted. More _things_, but nothing that could make him happy. He was sure he knew how a prisoner in the pre-reform days felt; all the joy and color had been sucked from his life, as if by a Dementor. "I don't feel well," he said, "I'm turning in early."

Astoria followed him into the hall, grabbing him roughly by the arm. "It's Christmas. Time for our once-a-year mating. Like zoo pandas." She tried to kiss him, but he twisted his face away. As he retreated upstairs, she screamed, "_I despise you_!" A half-full wine glass narrowly missed his head.

His bed was vast, big enough for a harem. He crawled into it alone and cried himself to sleep.

Draco sat up, gasping. "I'm awake. I'm awake!" He was in his vast bed, all alone, in the quiet tomb that was Malfoy Manor. He threw his duvet to the floor and ran to his fireplace. He grabbed a handful of Floo powder. "The Burrow," he said and he tossed the powder at his feet.

It was two in the morning, but the merriment still continued. Harry had a tissue-paper crown on his head and was standing on a coffee table reciting an obscene poem. Everyone screamed with laughter, except Molly, who was hiding her face with her hands. Harry paused in his recitation when he saw Draco. The corners of his mouth quirked up. "You forgot a shirt, Malfoy."

As more than a dozen heads swivelled around to gawk at him, Draco crossed his arms over his chest. He took a deep breath. "Harry, I-" He hadn't really thought about what to say. "Harry-Harry-"

Harry jumped nimbly off the table and wrapped Draco in his arms, tipping him backwards as he gave him a long, deep kiss, the sort of kiss that Draco had long dreamed of getting from him. Harry lifted his head up, but kept Draco bent back. "I had to do it. George was holding mistletoe over your head."

"Do it again?" Draco asked softly.

"As many times as you want." Harry's lips claimed Draco's again as the Weasleys whooped and whistled, and Draco knew that, from now on, Christmas would always be good.


End file.
